So far in my short life I have had two very special little keets. The first
was Nipper. I received as a Confirmation present at the age of 9. I picked
him myself out of a cage full of parakeets, but he was the only one who was
sort of aqua with a little yellow face, he was unique, he was the one. We
brought him home in a little box, and when we opened it to let him in the
cage, he wouldn't come out, and scrunched in the back making that "ent!"
sound an angry budgie makes. My mom had to stick the eraser end of a pencil
in the bottom of the box to poke him out. And out he came into the cage. I
stuck my finger in to see if he would bite me, and though he was angry, he
only "nipped" a little. Hence the name Nipper or Nippy as it was most often.

That bird lived nine long wonderful years. He would head bang to
Metallica, twist his head around like some kind of owl wannabe, eat off of
every plate at the dinner table (while trying at all times to jump in the
butter dish with my mother swatting at him), and dive bomb on cue from the
top banister in the foyer. That bird even got loose outside once after we'd
had him about 6 years , and we all called and called for him and he answered
to us from a tree. We got him back in the cage, all crying ecstatically with
the neighbors staring at us out their windows. He lived three more years,
taking showers with me and feeding regurgitated bird seeds to my mom and my
brother. He died of a tumor at the age of nine while my younger brother
watched and sang him a little song about how much we all loved him.